


Skin Deep

by lipservice (thescariestadverbs)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Fallen Castiel, Handprint, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescariestadverbs/pseuds/lipservice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like learning how to walk all over again</p><p>Post Season 8, Cas struggling to adjust to being human</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Deep

It was like learning how to walk all over again. How to sit and stand and move. How to breathe. He’d never thought about them much before, they’d just been there. A part of him. No more special than a hand or foot. He keeps telling himself that he can adjust to it. People adjust to losing arms and legs and hands and feet all the time. People adjust to losing parts of themselves every day. And they go on.

He can go on, can’t he?

It’s the shrug of his shoulders, the feel of someone brushing by his back. It’s the water in the shower and the t-shirt on his back. It’s the little things that seem to remind him every day, all day, that he’s lost his wings. It’s not like he could see them in his vessel. Dean and Sam could only see their shadow if he wanted them too. But he could feel them. His wings, heavy with honor and purpose. Now his back just feels empty and exposed. He feels vulnerable, weak, and all too human without them. 

He feels like he stumbles everywhere he goes, struggling to catch his footing. He never imagined that all his confidence, his conviction, came from them. But now, standing in the bathroom, trapped in his vessel – his _body_ – he can’t help but stare in the mirror. Willing them to appear. He’d never really paid attention to mirrors before but now he hates them. Their ability to reflect the empty space behind him but amplify every imperfection of his human existence. Mirrors, he decides, are probably the worst thing ever invented. 

“Are you almost done in there?” Dean bangs on the door. 

He turns around and looks at his back one last time before pulling the t-shirt over his head, trying not to feel it slip over his shoulder blades. He runs his hand through his hair and opens the door. 

Dean smiles nervously when he sees him, “Morning, Cas.” 

He knows when Dean pats him on the back on the way by it’s meant to be comforting but really it just makes him want to scream. The contact just makes his back ache. He smiles the best he can, “Morning,” he says, heading back towards his room. He tried really, at first anyway, to have some sort of a normal life. He would eat breakfast and listen to Sam and Dean discuss cases. He would laugh at their banter. It all felt so hollow. 

It’s like watching yourself walk through the day without actually experiencing it. He felt disconnected, raw and reeling, it was easier just to stay in his room. He knew they talked about him, speculated and worried. Dean would come and talk to him. Sam would bring him food. They took turns checking on him often, but never for long. They look at him differently now. It’s like he’s an imposter in his own skin and they know his secret. He isn’t Castiel anymore. He isn’t anyone. 

If this is what it’s like to be human. To feel restless and lost all the time, to wander aimlessly searching for your purpose. If this is what it’s really like to be human then he honestly wants no part of it. 

It takes Dean a good twenty minutes to work up the courage to knock on Cas’s door. He knows the lunch Sam made has long gone cold but it’s not like Cas is really going to eat it. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just knocks and slowly opens the door. Cas is sitting on the bed facing the wall. Dean glances around the room as he walks over to the bed. It’s been six months since Cas moved into the bunker and the walls are still bare. 

“Lunch time,” he says nervously. Cas barely looks over at him when he sets the plate on the dresser. Dean sits down beside him, trying not to think about how gaunt and thin Cas looks, “Tell me,” Dean says slowly, “tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing,” Cas whispers. The scent of food makes him feel nauseous and he swallows back a gag. 

Dean sighs, trying not to let his frustration show, “Come on, Cas. Just tell me. It might help.”

Cas laughs bitterly, “Help?” the word feels foreign to him. How could talking help? How could anything? How could he even explain what he feels? 

“Sometimes it helps,” Dean reaches out, “you’d be surprised.” Dean is the one who is surprised, however, when Cas flinches as he puts his arm around him, “I’m sorry,” he says awkwardly as he pulls his arm away.

“It’s not you. It’s just. They’re gone.” A tear runs down his cheek.

It takes Dean a minute to realize the momentum of what Cas is saying. He turns his head so he can see him, taking in the broken man beside him, “Your wings.” It’s not a question, it doesn’t need to be a question.

“My wings are gone,” it hurts more to say it out loud. The words leave a nasty taste in his mouth and he can feel his stomach churn at them.

Dean places a gentle hand on Cas’s shoulder and he holds it there even when Cas tries to shrug him off, “I’m sorry,” he tries. It feels wrong to say it but he doesn’t know what else he could say. 

He can feel the overwhelming loneliness of humanity. He’s trapped between his own disappointment and his defeat and he can’t quite figure out how to shake it, “Who am I?” he turns to face Dean, electric blue eyes wide and confused, “Who am I?”

“You’re Cas,” Dean says simply. He stands in front of Cas, grabbing both of his shoulders, “You’re still Cas.” It’s almost as though Dean is trying to convince himself that he hasn’t completely lost the man in front of him.

Cas stands up quickly, pushing Dean’s hands off of him, “I’ve lost everything,” he says, “My wings, my halo, my grace,” he meets Dean’s eyes for the first time in days, “It’s all gone. I’m not an angel anymore. I'm not Castiel anymore.” 

Dean’s got no idea where to even start to comfort Cas. He’s trying to think, to imagine, the feeling of losing something of that magnitude. Cas is still talking, as though he isn’t even talking to Dean anymore, about Heaven and the damage. About his grace and his wings. Cas talks about how lost and alone it is to be human. By the time he’s done he’s sobbing and Dean is still standing there fighting for the right words to say. How do you comfort a fallen angel?

He pulls Cas in close to his chest, wrapping both his arms around the other man. He whispers soothingly in Cas’s ear and strokes his hair. It feels like it takes hours but in reality it’s only minutes before the sobs quiet and Cas starts to pull back.

It’s when Cas reaches out to steady himself that they both feel it course through them. The moment his hand rests on Dean’s shoulder it’s like a strike of lightening hits them both. Maybe he’d just never touched the right spot before, or maybe when he had his grace he didn’t feel the connection hit him so hard.

“What was that?” Dean’s blinks rapidly, wondering if he imagined the surge. 

“It’s my grace,” Cas whispers. 

Dean looks around the room cautiously, “Your grace is here?” 

Cas shakes his head, unable to move his hand from Dean’s shoulder, “It’s inside you. At least, a piece of it is. When I pulled you from Hell and rebuilt you I had to use some of my grace to do it. I must have left some inside you.” It’s like he’s glued to the floor, glued to Dean. 

It’s like a revelation crashing down on top of them. It’s almost tangible, the connection building up in the room. Dean’s throat is raw when he finally speaks, “Can you take it out?”

“No, I don’t think I can,” Cas marvels. He tentatively slides his hand up Dean’s shoulder to the back of his neck. He can still feel it, though not as strongly. He’s surprised its take him this long to feel it, to sense it. He’s always known he had a connection to Dean. He never realized he was connected to the piece of himself buried deep in Dean’s soul. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers as he looks him straight in the eye, “Cas,” there is urgency in the whisper. He has no idea what he is experiencing. The hair on the back of his neck is standing straight up and every nerve in his skin feels like it’s on fire. He’s never felt anything like it before. It’s sexual at its core but it’s so much more than that at the same time. The spot where Cas’s hand is touching is tingling, lighting up at the contact. “Cas,” he’s louder this time. 

Dean had never thought about Cas like this, to be honest. He never entertained the idea of being with Cas. So why is it all he can think about right now is what Cas would taste like? He doesn’t realize he’s moving his hand until he feels it slide along Cas’s waist and up his back. He can feel Cas shudder when he touches the space in between his shoulders and he bites back a groan. He’s holding himself back, he knows, because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Have Cas’s eyes always been that shade of blue? How did he miss that? 

“Dean, I – “ There’s thunder when Dean catches his lips. Whether it’s outside or just in his head Cas doesn’t know. He feels the tip of Dean’s tongue graze his teeth as he deepens the kiss. His shoulder blades ache and throb with every second. He feels Dean’s hand run down his back, grabbing where his wings would be. He tries to imagine how it would feel to have Dean run his hands through his feathers. He tries not to moan at the thought.

The little bit of his grace inside Dean isn’t enough to change anything. He knows he still has to adjust, to accept the fact that he’s human now. He slides his hand back to Dean’s shoulder so he can feel the connection ride through them again. He pulls back so he can see Dean’s face. He’s breathing heavily and his eyes are dark and serious. He doesn’t speak, just stares deep into Cas’s eyes, doing everything he can not to shove him back on the bed.

It may not be enough to bring his wings back. It may not be enough to change anything really. Cas pushes his hips against Dean’s and kisses him hungrily. It may not be everything, he tells himself, but it’s something.


End file.
